


Title And Registration

by Hewlett



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, My First Fanfic, Past Relationship(s), Post-Break Up, Real depression hours, Sad, Sad Ending, Self-Doubt, Songfic, Swissprus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 08:54:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15482202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hewlett/pseuds/Hewlett
Summary: "...Maybe he was sad at the photo, not because he wished it never existed, but that he didn't have an ocean of them to pick through, that he didn't have a story, or experience, or loving embrace to attach to each and every picture. Maybe he was sad that he would never be able to make another one, and that the one photo that did exist was stuffed away, forgotten, dusty and longing for viewership inside of his car, rolled up and bent beside his insurance papers."Basch comes across an old photo of a past relationship in his glove compartment. As the days drag on, his mind is occupied endlessly by his regrets, and refusal to admit a mutual loss of passion.





	1. As the rain beat down on the hood.

**Author's Note:**

> Songfic inspired by the amazing song, "Title and Registration" by Death Cab for Cutie.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KGEyqP0744c

The officer's gaze was harsh. But, Basch figured, it had every right to be.

It was late, and Basch had been speeding along on the highways, anxious to return home and sleep the night away after a night in the pub following work. He had been spending more and more time there recently. Unthinking, and impatient, he had broken the speed limit, and raced past a patrolman. Now standing beside his car, rain pelting him in the late night cold, the lawman was none too pleased with the blonde man he now stared at, professional and patient demeanor strained by the chilly night. Pitch dark and all encompassing, the dark kept even the moon veiled under its shadow, and the stars that dared emerge were dim and lonely. The sound of rain pelting the asphalt, interrupted by the rise, peak, and fall of passing cars, with the water under their tires making their telltale sound all the way down the roads, disappearing and reappearing under the yellowish haze of distant streetlights. The picture from behind the windscreen was melancholy and forlorn, and its effect on him was amplified by the dull glow of the vehicles peripherals, the soft shimmering of buttons on the car stereo, and how the conditions were just right so that Basch could see himself in the glass, rolling down the window in a most embarrassed fashion. He couldn't remember the last time he had ever been pulled over.

"Can I see your license, proof of insurance, and registration, please?" Deadpan. Frustrated. Impatient. An officer after his own heart.

Basch sighed as he provided his drivers license, reaching sideways and fumbling with the door to the rarely touched glove compartment, body uncomfortable against his seatbelt as he reached for the latch. Eventually, it sprung open and settled its weight with a dull thud, and Basch had to sift through papers and assorted junk for the correct items to provide. Becoming more and more upset at the whole ordeal, and still without his papers, he could feel the eyes of the cop, now certainly drenched, bore into his back. Rushing himself, the Swiss man eventually, and accidentally, emptied his entire glove box out onto the passenger seat. With everything splayed out in his car, finding what he needed was no longer a challenge. With documents in hand, he was about to turn and offer the other man a reason to find shelter in his cruiser, when his eyes brushed past an old photo.

Basch froze, staring intently at the image laying on the floor of the vehicle, breath hitched, and fingers tightening around the papers in hand. It was a photo of himself, adorned in a bright red sweater, mug in hand, grinning subtly towards the camera. Beside him stood Gilbert, lips stretched to reveal a toothy grin, holding the smaller man by his shoulder and pulling him tight. Two holiday seasons ago, and although the park they stood in then was below freezing, and layered over and again in white, near velvety snow, the photo exuded such a warmth and emanated cheerful mirth that it made the rainy, pitch black highway around him seem that much colder. It was those two Christmas seasons ago where Basch and Lili visited Gilbert and his brother, Ludwig, for the holidays, and the small, peaceful, quiet winter holiday Basch and his sister were used to, erupted into bright, shimmering, awe inspiring celebrations of giving and love in the house of their hosts. He remembered everything they ate, the presents they opened, and sitting beside Lili and Gilbert, the latter of whom would sneak pecks and kisses whenever the former and Ludwig would look away, and how he had to explain why he was so red when Lili turned around again. He remembered how Gilbert snickered under his breath, and how he had to jam his elbow into Gilbert's ribs to get him to stop, lest they get caught.

The officer cleared his throat.

"Oh. Er..Here." Basch just barely choked out, handing the lawman his papers and sinking into his seat. How embarrassing. What was worse is that instead of going back to his car, the cop stood and checked over his papers once or twice beside his window still, silence punctuating the brutal awkwardness of what had just happened. Basch, facing away, staring dumbstruck at the floor, must have made him seem a fool. When the other man finally did speak, his frustrated tone was replaced with something more self satisfying, veiled with professional requirement. "Sir, Can you step out of the vehicle, please?"

Basch opened his mouth to speak, an expression of anger rushing into his face, before biting his tongue, and closing his mouth again. Stubborn to the end, but Basch knew better than to argue with a cop who was petty enough to make him stand in the rain. Slowly, now feeling no sympathy for the other, Basch undid his buckle, and got out, standing with folded arms beside his vehicle as the patrolman walked back to his car to inspect his papers. He could have been thinking of anything else, mainly a way to get out of his ticket, but his head turned, and his vision settled on the still visible photo through the drivers side window. That had been ages ago, and it seemed like even longer. His relationship with Gilbert, too, was nearly forgotten, if not for his foolish stumbling on old memories. As he thought, Basch conceded to himself that he hadn't ever really forgotten, instead letting those fond memories slip into a kind of unconscious, often referenced in his thoughts but never explicitly thought of in the present tense. These ideas were all confusing, and the farther he went the more disheartening it all felt. Boots striding across the pavement broke up his indulgence in past experiences, and Basch still had enough sense in him to turn his head to face the other before being startled.

"Do you know why I pulled you over tonight?" The man was pleased with himself, staring at the now drenched Basch Zwingli. "I wasn't paying attention, I just wanted to get back home." Basch felt strangely absent from the conversation. "I know I was speeding. I can't remember the last time I was pulled over--"

"Okay, okay." The officer interrupted. He did this in a way that made Basch wonder if he had sounded worried or desperate. "I'll let you off with a warning, since you have such a clean record. Just pay more attention next time." He likely thought that standing in the rain alongside him was punishment enough. Starting to shiver in the cold, Basch mumbled his restrained thank you's, took his papers back, and sat in his car, hair dripping water onto his shoulders. The chill he felt, running up his arms, over his shoulders, and down his back, had been earned a few times over just in the last few minutes alone. Basch cleaned up the junk he had covered his car in, stuffing it all back into the cramped compartment of the glove box. When the last item remaining was the infernal photo, Basch loathed picking it up and bringing it closer to his face. The experience made it's existence more real, and turned it into an unfortunate accident, into a physical item that represented such a happy moment in his life, gone.

The hum of his car driving down the highway again accompanied his thoughts as he set out for home a second time. The photo sat on the dashboard, separated from the miscellany of the glove compartment.


	2. Lying awake at night.

Basch sat, staring at his ceiling. The red glare in his peripheral vision of the alarm clock was a constant reminder as to how annoying this whole ordeal was. 3:24 AM. He had watched it tick on, enveloped in his own thoughts from the moment he stripped off his work clothes, now soaked and clinging to his form, and sat in bed, hoping to sleep. He had gotten home at 11:00 PM. He had gotten up, drank water, used the bathroom, done anything he could to occupy his time other than sleep. If Lilli wasn't off visiting friends for a sleep over, he would have been keeping her up with his continued consciousness. Indeed, that same consciousness was the bane of his night as well, thoughts bouncing back and forth, colliding with eachother and creating a terrible tragedy that unraveled itself over and over.

He still loved him. Truly, he did. Basch was never one for sappy literature, which bored, middle aged housewives read to convince themselves they are free of the guilt for their next divorce, who clung to the gooey, mushy platitudes like the children clinging to their hip. But he found that as he thought, his mind turned their relationship into something far more romanticized and picture-esque than it ever was in practice. Basch loved Gilbert in hindsight. Sitting awake, watching as the digital display on his clock went from 3:30 AM to 3:31, Basch idolized Gilbert as a bringer of joy and happiness, who kept him tethered to better times, as he kept Gilbert tethered to tangible reality and common sense. Gilbert brought him up from a stuffy old man trapped in a young mans body into a level headed acquaintance with the rest of the world. He began to see him as the one who hung the stars, as wind 'neath ones sails and as Jupiter, the bringer of jollity.

Basch ran a hand through his hair, standing again and tiredly stumbling through the hallways into the bathroom. He didn't bother to turn on the light, but he stared into the mirror all the same. He wished he had never seen the photo, but he didn't have an answer as to why he didn't want to see it. 

Maybe he was sad at the photo, not because he wished it never existed, but that he didn't have an ocean of them to pick through, that he didn't have a story, or experience, or loving embrace to attach to each and every picture. Maybe he was sad that he would never be able to make another one, and that the one photo that did exist was stuffed away, forgotten, dusty and longing for viewership inside of his car, rolled up and bent beside his insurance papers.

Maybe he was angry that he had to dwell on these memories, and that keeping something objectively saddening and ready to cause such misery and grief hidden away behind a locked door was best for him. Seeing it, and reliving old times that now were inconsequential, would detriment his existence and interactions with others for the rest of his days, so long as he remembered. 

Basch couldn't settle on an answer, nor did he think he would ever be able to, simply walking back into the hallway, down through his kitchen, out of the front door, and into his car. It had stopped raining, but the breeze was cool and his pajamas did nothing to shield the icy chill the blew over his skin. Now clutching the photo, he walked back inside. He figured he would expose himself to it rather than dance around the issue and ponder. It did him no good to fear the sight of a photograph, so he sat at his kitchen table and stared at it, incessantly. His eyes, focused and green like jade carved into hardened circles. His thumb ran along the edge of the photo, and his eyes darted around every aspect, including the small heart, written in marker, on the top right corner. He blinked, and slowly set it down. When had he started crying?

Wiping his eyes, he did not sob, but more tears followed the last ones, serving only to frustrate him more. When he finally settled a bit, he thought again, as to why he had bothered at all. Well, it was fun. It wasn't such a lonely, empty time coming into work, going home, and tending to his affairs. He had felt he had proven himself to those around him. No longer was he a hermit who wouldn't suffer fools. He would love that fool, and spend his every waking moment with him, and love him to the ends of the earth, proving to everyone who surely felt shock and disbelief at their affection to eachother, he was capable, and worthy, of affection and love. Gilbert could be a thick-headed dolt, but he was well meaning, and sweet, and at times genuinely kind, and the fun they had together helped Basch not to be so distant and blunt. Basch, in turn, felt he helped ground Gilbert, and their combination of simple straightman and goofy agitator worked just as well as anyone could have hoped, or not believed. 

And then it stopped. It wasn't a messy, loud, terrible, quick breakup, but a painful, excruciating process that took months to finally stop. Why it did, he wasn't even entirely sure, because right now, if Gilbert was infront of him, he would hug and embrace him as if he were a dying man seeking a saviour. Changing as people. Lack of passion. Not being good enough. Any of these filled the vacancy on Basch's lips, and yet he refused to believe they fit. He felt more passionate about it then ever, in fact, and all he felt now was regret and disappointment. Of course, he had no indication that Gilbert felt anything about it. Gilbert, actually, had done well to pretend it never even happened, and that is possibly why Basch had forgotten so much about it. It wasn't rare to see him singing drunkenly at the pub at any moment, even after their separation, and Basch becoming a recluse was just par for the course. Exactly what everyone expecting to happen. It hurt more now, thinking of everyone who must have shrugged their shoulders, their expectations verified. Things just went back to normal. He didn't know if it was because Gilbert never cared, but he doubted it. Some part of him wanted to call and ask him how he felt. Another part wanted to beg Gilbert to tell him a lie just so he could stop worrying.


	3. All night.

The soft tearing sound did little to break through the minutiae of the early morning soundscape, dawn lighting the kitchen, coffee maker and chirping birds providing minor ambiance to which Basch could attach himself and feel absent. The sound of the photograph tearing, if accompanied by nothing but complete silence, would be a gut wrenching, awful sound, but as the night turned to morning and the world around him woke up, he could try and focus himself, whether successful or not, on other things. The pieces of the photograph falling into the trash bin made no sound. Gilbert likely didn't care any more. He had forgotten, just as Basch had, and he wouldn't go making an ass of himself just for some self verification he likely wouldn't get. 

It was over. It was time to move on. 

The image, now made into two, sat there, stark against the muted colours of the usual trash. Basch's small, almost unnoticeable smile, and Gilbert's tight embrace around the shorter man, the snowy park around them, where they convinced Ludwig they were right behind him as he walked home, so they could sit in the empty gazebo and hold eachother tightly, and whisper sweet nothings into eachothers ear before they shared a soft, innocent kiss that Basch swore was better than anything he had felt before that moment. The snow that Gilbert tripped and fell into on their way home, which caused both of them to evolve their stifled giggles into hardy, bellowing laughter that threatened to wake the houses around the park, and the tacky, warm, slightly coarse Christmas sweaters they wore, which they fell asleep in on the couch, forgetting to sleep apart lest Ludwig or Lilli wake up before them, gripping eachother tightly as they slept. 

Done with. Trash. Rubbish.

Basch refused to dwell on unimportant, sappy business any longer.


End file.
